CHERRY GLOSS AND CIGARETTES
bf!rafe cameron x bimbo reader
she walked like sin on satin heels.
bubblegum gloss, glitter on her lids, and that tiny pink mini barely covering her ass.
everything about her said trouble, but rafe? he was the kind of boy who begged for it.
she twirled her gum around her finger like it was a cigarette and rafe cameron swore she was made in a lab. a doll. a daydream. a walking heart attack in heels that clicked when she walked toward him, always toward him.
“hi baby,” she purred, soft and sweet like cotton candy melting on the tongue.
he was leaning against his truck, hands shoved in his pockets, but the second she got close, all that fake nonchalance went out the window. she was wearing his varsity jacket over her outfit. god, she looked like a fantasy — his fantasy.
“you wearin’ that just to kill me?” he asked, voice low, gravelly, eyes drinking her in like she was his favorite kind of poison.
“no,” she said, giggling. “but if i did, would you die happy?”
rafe smirked, stepped forward, cupped her cheeks in those big, rough hands and tilted her head back like she was something precious. “i’d die fuckin’ euphoric, princess.”
she gasped all dramatic, plush lips parted like she was in one of those old romance films. “you’re soooo obsessed with me.”
“can you blame me?” he murmured, eyes flicking down to her lips. “look at you. you’re like... the end of the world.”
she blinked up at him, lashes thick and fake and flirty. “i don’t even know what that means.”
he laughed. soft. stupid. completely enchanted. “means you’d be the last thing i’d wanna see before the apocalypse.”
she tilted her head, letting that process with her glossed-up, bubble-brain pout. then she grinned like sunshine. “aww, baby, that’s soooo sweet.”
rafe kissed her like a man possessed. slow and messy and full of hunger. her gum got caught between their tongues, but she didn’t care. she moaned into it, fingers tangled in his golden hair, hips bumping into his, all heat and perfume and pink-sugar chaos.
he pressed her up against the truck door, his jacket falling off her shoulders, but she didn’t fix it. just kept looking at him like he hung the stars in the sky.
“you smell like strawberries,” he muttered, burying his nose in her neck. “you’re gonna ruin me.”
“duh,” she said, giggling. “that’s, like, the plan.”
he groaned, head thudding against her shoulder. “you have no idea what you do to me.”
she bit her lip. “i do. that’s why i wear the little skirts.”
he looked down at her legs — long, smooth, tan, perfect — and nearly whined. she hooked one over his thigh, pouting up at him.
“you gonna take me to the diner or just keep kissing me till i’m dizzy?”
“both,” he said, without a beat. “diner first. dizzy later. maybe both at once.”
the neon motel sign flickered outside like a dirty promise.
room 7 smelled like smoke and lemon cleaner, but rafe couldn’t care less.
not with her sitting on the edge of the bed in her thigh-high socks and panties, reapplying her gloss like they weren’t about to ruin the room.
“you look like a dream,” he muttered, kicking off his boots.
“i am a dream,” she said, smacking her lips. “and you’re so lucky i picked you to have me.”
“i’d thank god if i thought he had anything to do with it,” he murmured, crawling between her legs. “but i know you’re way too good for heaven.”
she giggled, squealed when he grabbed her thighs and dragged her closer.
“careful! i just did my nails.”
“then you better hold onto the headboard, baby,” he growled, yanking her panties down with his teeth, “cause i’m about to make you forget your name.”
she gasped, tossed her head back, eyes all heavy-lidded and pretty while he buried his face between her thighs. one hand in his hair, the other clawing at the sheets, high-pitched moans falling from her lips like a pop song stuck on repeat.
he hummed against her, grinning, totally feral. “say it again.”
“rafe,” she whined, “baby, baby, please.”
he pulled back just long enough to look up at her, lips shiny with her gloss and her. “you look so fuckin’ pretty like this. all messy for me.”
she blinked down at him, face flushed, hair a mess, and god, he wanted to take a picture. frame it. tattoo it on his chest.
“come here,” she whispered.
he climbed up over her, hand slipping under her bra, squeezing just to make her gasp. she wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him like she owned him — which she did.
he slid in slow, thick and deep, both of them moaning into each other’s mouths.
“god,” he hissed, “you’re so— tight— fuck—”
“told you i was a dream,” she whispered, biting his lip. “don’t wake up, baby.”
he laughed. “never could.”
they moved together like it was choreography. like a vintage tape left on repeat — her moaning his name, rafe whispering mine, mine, mine in her ear, her pink nails scratching down his back, her lips parted just enough to look obscene.
when she came, it was loud and pretty and perfect.
when he did, he swore he saw stars.
after, she laid on his chest, tracing hearts on his skin.
“you’re, like, so obsessed with me,” she mumbled, yawning.
“you don’t even know the half of it,” he whispered, kissing her forehead.
and when she fell asleep, lips parted, cheeks pink, hair a mess, rafe just stared at her like she was everything.
because to him?
she was.
and he'd burn the world down just to keep her soft and spoiled and smiling like that.